


Mark My Words (Something's Gonna Change)

by dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Asshole Dean, Dean Winchester Being an Asshole, Diary/Journal, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Happy Ending, I mean kind of, Protective Dean Winchester, zombie killing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba/pseuds/dancer_of_the_hellfire_rumba
Summary: Maybe he just doesn’t like me. Maybe I remind him of someone he hated in the deepest parts of himself so now I’m paying the price. But he could’ve killed me the day he found me. Could’ve stripped me of my belongings and dumped me on the side of the road. If he truly hates me that much, why did he take me in in the first place?Maybe he just doesn’t trust me yet. He will put his camp, his group over a single person and I get that much, but the supplies he got were not worth a life, right?Why am I dwelling on this so much? Maybe he’s simply an asshole with a moral compass screwed to hell. Maybe he’s always been like that. I can’t put up with every prick’s bullshit. I’ll pay them back and be on my merry way and this will all just be a bad memory.





	Mark My Words (Something's Gonna Change)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Zombie-related gore, gruff asshole Dean, non descriptive sexual assault  
> The title is taken from a song called Deadwood by Dirty Pretty Things. The chapter titles are taken from Blood Thirsty Bastards, a song from the same band.

**_July 14th, 2013_ **

Nowadays when I write the date, I wonder if keeping up with it matters anymore.

The house was one of the best decisions I’ve made since 2010. I almost got killed by those flesh-eating fuckers, but I got some supplies. The guy must’ve been a hunter Before. There were hidden compartments all over the friggin’ place. Got a lot of ammo and three more handguns -I couldn’t carry any more. Also got some cans of soup and two large water bottles. Found these kickass, dark brown, lace-up boots, some clean socks – _finally. Who knew that the first thing that would become extinct in the apocalypse would be tall socks-_ and a worn-out leather jacket that’s gonna come in handy in a month.

I got surrounded for a moment, had to fight off a rotten bastard that was close to biting me, but I came out alive, intact and victorious.

I also got a book. Stupid move to fill up space with something that isn’t a necessity, I know, but these are the only things keeping me company lately. I used to be incapable of focusing long enough to finish them. Now I need a new one every couple of days.

 

**_July 29th, 2013_ **

I have sprained my ankle.

It hurts like a motherfucker when I try to step on it, so I decided to play Katniss and tie myself up in a tree. Somehow, I did it. Almost fell a couple times, almost screamed at the pain a couple more, but I did it. I’ll wait up here for a day or two. Just until I can walk. I have enough supplies to last me a couple more days.

I finished the second book of the Supernatural series. I actually loved it? It’s weird, I know. But everything is very realistic. How’d that bastard, Carver Edlund, know all about the hunting world and why he decided to write  _books_  about it instead of, I don’t know, actually go hunting, I’ll never know.

Gotta say though, Dean is such a relatable character? He reminds me of myself a lot. I wish I could meet him and give him a hug. Poor guy’s been through a lot and there are so many more books full of misadventures for both him and his brother. I hope they come out in one piece by the end of this.

Is it stupid to obsess over books in a world like the one I’m living now? Probably. I should care about survival and nothing more. But I’d like to think I should find something that makes me happy through all of this too. If books do that for me, then who the fuck cares, right?

Lastly, I can’t afford taking up more space with another useless notebook so I started sketching in the pages of the book I’ve finished. I tried picturing Dean. The cover looked far too unrealistic to me. I think he turned out alright. I might just keep doing that. It distracted me for a couple hours.

 

**_August 11th, 2013_ **

I found someone.

His name’s Jacob and he scared the shit out of me when he appeared out of nowhere, right where I had set up camp. He looks kinda stupid and he’s annoying, but these days I can’t exactly be picky with who I spend my time with.

He creeps me out a little bit. He’s in his late thirties, he has a beard, an old beer belly and he keeps giving me these looks. Maybe he hasn’t been around someone in a while.

 

**_August 15th, 2013_ **

Just as I suspected. Jacob was a creep.

Not only was he a creep, he was an absolute scumbag too. I guess the world still doesn’t lack rapists. I barely got out of there alive.

I don’t even wanna think about it. I can still feel the ground mudding up my torso and the tree scratching my back harshly. I’m still crying, my lungs hurt from all the running, I’m bleeding, everything is just- it’s shit. Everything’s shit and I just want it to go back to how it was. I want comfortable beds, electricity, hot cocoa and everything in between. I hate this. I hate how I feel and .                       . ..

 

**_August 17th, 2013_ **

Someone else found me.

I was crying and scribbling away in my notebook and he appeared out of nowhere. I jumped and tried to scramble away, reach for my knife, but he quickly had me at gunpoint. I was panicking, to say the least. He asked me if I had a group, I said no, if I’m bitten, I told him no again. He said ‘Scratched?’ I replied, ‘yeah, but not from the zombies.’ He looked at me suspiciously, asked me to show him. Admittedly, it felt like something vulnerable that he had no right to see but if I refused to, he’d kill me.

I got up slowly so I wouldn’t irk him, wiped my tears, took off my jacket as slow as I could and turned around. I pulled my torn shirt up, breathing harshly because having the scratches is one thing, moving in them is another. He hissed when he saw them.

‘That bad, huh?’ I said. He didn’t reply. ‘Think this could be done by zombies? It was a tree.’ He asked me who did that to me. I put my shirt down slowly and said ‘the same guy who tried to rape me about three hours ago.’ He asked me where the guy was. ‘Dead.’ He didn’t pry for anything more.

‘Your back looks like it fought a cheese grater and lost,’ is all he said. I tried to laugh, but it probably sounded hollow and short. It felt so, anyway. I grabbed my backpack and threw it at his feet, told him to just leave me my book and a knife, he could take the rest. He contemplated it for a second, as I sat down on the ground dejectedly. I had already given up.

I could feel his eyes on me. Eventually he muttered something close to ‘Damn it’ and lowered his weapon.

‘Come on,’ he said and holstered his gun. ‘You’re coming with me.’ I was confused and scared and most definitely didn’t want to get involved with another person, but he didn’t look of the advantage-taking kind.

He introduced himself as Dean, told me he had a group. They had a doctor and food and people. He was willing to take me in. I was suspicious at first but when I thought about it I realized I’d end up dead soon anyway, if these wounds weren’t taken care of. They needed stitches, I was sure, and regular bandage changes and I had neither the supplies nor the ability to stitch my own back. I let him help me up.

‘I’ll pull my own weight, I promise,’ I told him.

‘If you don’t, I’ll kick you out.’

 

**_August 25th, 2013_ **

Dean’s camp is fast paced and organized beyond comprehension. Everything is calculated down to the last person, even kids and elders. Each one has a job, small or big, and a schedule. There’s a routine people follow, there are chores, but the place is smooth and working and honestly? That’s all I could ask for.

For now, I’m on bed rest, so I spend my days on my bunk, writing, sketching or reading. In a week or so I should be in the clear.

Dean is a gruff, emotionless man. Apparently he’s the leader, with Chuck being the second in command. He’s respected and I found some people were even scared of him. He didn’t crack jokes, didn’t smile. The hard lines on his face have settled and seem to have arrived to stay long term. I haven’t seen him since he checked on me the first day he brought me to the doc.

I can’t imagine what it’s like to lead. I’d be terrible at it. I’m too much of a softie. He –Dean- has probably had to make grave decisions, terrible ones that no one else could make. I don’t even wanna think about the responsibility he must feel.

I wonder what his story is. I wonder when was the last time he smiled genuinely. I wonder how he became their leader.

I feel a lot like a burden around here. I wanna be up and kicking, looking for supplies, being useful. I feel like I’m just another mouth to feed right now, like I’m dead weight. I can’t wait to heal.

 

**_September 16th, 2013_ **

I’m officially on scavenger duty.

I’m excited, as weird as it sounds. I can finally pull my weight around here. I’ve gotten the clear from the doc, Cas. Now I’m just spending my evenings walking around, sitting in quiet corners.

I caught a moment between Dean and this brunette yesterday. She slapped him. Dean saw me but paid no mind, seemingly not the least bit ashamed. Apparently our leader is good for a night but not much else. Something in me doubts that.

Today I’m sitting on a bench near the RVs, watching and eating my share of canned soup and canned peaches. It’s a pretty day and there are two boys playing a handful feet to my right. It’s almost as if the world hasn’t ended.

I have to go soon, meet up with George and Victor at the front. I have a supply run scheduled. I can’t wait. I’ve been stewing on my ass long enough. It’s time to face the music.

* * *

I’m sitting on the roof of a supermarket and neither George nor Victor are with me. Oh no, it’s just Dean. Yes, that’s right. Dean.

When I asked him why he picked me to go with him and not one of his buddies he replied with ‘I don’t know you. I won’t hesitate to put you down if shit hits the fan.’ Talk about not sugar coating things. I haven’t spoken to him since.

We’ve made a good team, I’d like to think. We silently made our way in the Supermarket, stuffed our bags with medical supplies, kitchen knives, duct tape, basically anything that seemed useful. There wasn’t much stuff food-wise, but we did find some clothes for the kids and water.

He’s good,  _really_  good. Skillful, silent and agile with crazy-accurate reflexes. I can see how he, not only survived, but created an actual community as well.

We’re gonna stay the night here, it’s too risky to be out at night. We’re only two people after all.

 

**_September 17th, 2013_ **

I never thought the word doodling could sound so funny, but when Dean asked me ‘ **Are you… _doodling_?**’ in a gruff, morning voice, I couldn’t help but stifle a grin.

‘Well, when you call it  _doodling_  it sounds stupid,’ I told him. ‘Hey, ‘d you see Van Gogh’s  _doodles_. Picasso  _doodled_  great.’ He sat up from the makeshift cot we’d made the night before, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his palms and glared at me.

‘During your shift to  _watch_ , you know, in case something around the corner tries to  _kill_  us, you’re  _drawing_ , but oh, I’m so sorry I insulted your craft,’ he mocked. He looked pissed. I didn’t see the big deal. We were in a secluded space, on the second floor, with only one way in or out that we’d barricaded.

For the rest of the day, Dean was pissy. He’s always pissy, now that I think about it, but today he’s been insufferable in every sense of the word.

At some point, while we were leaving the building a couple rotten bastards appeared out of nowhere, pinned him down. I stabbed one, kicking the other off of him. Dean took care of the third. He just nodded afterward. Didn’t even glance a second time at me. Hey, I technically just saved his ass, and he couldn’t even say thanks, the asshole. I feel like he looks down at me as if he’s…  _better_  or something.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t. He’s just… getting on my nerves. I’m frustrated, that’s it. I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’ll show him.

 

**_September 20th, 2013_ **

The BASTARD! The fucking absolute prick! I hate him so much, oh my god! He really kept his word, didn’t he? He really doesn’t give a crap about me! And here I was, thinking I can gain some respect. I was so oblivious!

I can’t believe he used me as bait!

What a horrible thing to fucking do?! Trading lives? What the hell screwed his moral compass so much?!

He said he had it ‘under control’, that ‘he would’ve come back for me’ and ‘you would’ve been fine’, but that’s fucking bullshit. Had my reflexes not been sharp enough I would’ve been a zombie by now, munching on some squirrel. I dodged a bullet there and instead of helping me, the asshole, the  _bastard_  used it to his advantage to pursue the medical supplies.

I can’t believe it! I mean I knew he was an asshole, but that goes beyond being mean and rude. That’s just downright wrong!

I was right to feel uneasy to join. I shouldn’t have joined this group. I made a grave mistake and now I can’t leave. I wasted so many of their medical supplies, I owe them. From now on, I won’t eat. I’ll go on supply runs, restock all the supplies I wasted and be on my way. I’m done with this.

 

**_September 26th, 2013_ **

When Dean and I arrived back to the camp two days ago, I let the guys unload and ran straight to my cabin. I’ve stayed here, have refrained from joining them for lunch. They can’t know I’ve been gone, right? I haven’t talked to anyone –not that I’ve made any acquaintances in the handful days I stayed here- and now I’m waiting until my morning schedule says I have to go on a run.

It’s a bit sad and lonely, but three years into the end of the world, I’ve gotten used to the silence.

I’m half way through the third book of the Supernatural series. I found it on the run, sneaked it in my pack before Dean could see me. I was reading when it struck me that my Dean and the Dean from the series have the same name.

I can’t help but compare them to one another. One is kind, troubled but caring, completely selfless. The other is cold-hearted and an inconsiderate asshole who’d put someone’s life on the line if it gave him three extra breadcrumbs.

Maybe he just doesn’t like me. Maybe I remind him of someone he hated in the deepest parts of himself so now I’m paying the price. But he could’ve killed me the day he found me. Could’ve stripped me of my belongings and dumped me on the side of the road. If he truly hates me that much, why did he take me in in the first place?

Maybe he just doesn’t trust me yet. He will put his camp, his group over a single person and I get that much, but the supplies he got were not worth a life, right?

Why am I dwelling on this so much? Maybe he’s simply an asshole with a moral compass screwed to hell. Maybe he’s always been like that. I can’t put up with every prick’s bullshit. I’ll pay them back and be on my merry way and this will all just be a bad memory.

 

**_September 29th, 2013_ **

My newest assignment arrived last night. I’m out with George this time. He’s much better company than Dean, I’ll say that much. First off he talks to me, doesn’t look at me like I’m a nuisance. He cracks up at my jokes, makes some of his own, he’s a damn good scavenger and, all in all, he’s just a great partner. I’m not afraid I’ll be used as friggin’ bait.

We stopped at this house –I only have to say one thing.  _King. Sized. Beds. Ugh-_  , found a tiny amount of food and only two bottles of meds. Found a cool flannel though. It’s dark red. Dean (from the books) might’ve liked it.

I read some more and George didn’t mind because he knows four hours alone on watch are fucking boring as hell. Finally, a logical person.

He’s sleeping right now. I’ll wait till sunup and we’ll get going.

 

**_November 2nd, 2013_ **

The run was not a grand success but we’re back with some food and two boxes of ammo so I suppose that’s  _something_. George is an awesome guy. Apparently, he’s Dean’s best friend. You’d think Dean would have horrible friends much like himself.

When I rolled my eyes at the mention of his name, George smiled knowingly and asked me to give him a chance, because, and I quote, ‘He’s a good guy, darlin’. Just a bit roughed up.’

I didn’t tell him about the previous run and I didn’t reply.

 

 ** _November 4th, 2013_**                                                                                         

I am starving.

I haven’t eaten in two days. I didn’t wanna owe more stuff to the camp. The last thing I remember eating was a granola bar. I’m craving one of those Argentinean barbeques my dad used to do and invite the whole neighborhood. He’d open our back yard gate, call up his friends and cook the  _best_  meat I’ve had, I think ever. I haven’t eaten non-canned in so long.

I’m not sure if what I’m doing –not eating- will get me anywhere. I’m making it up as I go along. I hope it doesn’t blow in my face.

I have a run tomorrow, and a long one from what I gather. They haven’t told me with whom, but they never do anyway. I don’t wanna see Dean’s face. I don’t think I’ll be able to resist punching him. I won’t be sleeping for the next couple days, that’s for damn sure. I don’t trust him enough to keep watch.

It’s the worst feeling ever. It’s one thing being alone in a world full of flesh eating monsters, keeping one eye open and what not, and it’s another to be accompanied by someone, to need to trust them and be unable to.

Maybe I’ll make it out of this alive.

 

**_November 7th, 2013_ **

Dean is with me on the run. We have no car with us this time, Chuck having dropped us off an hour away from a small town, close to twenty miles from camp.

‘Eat,’ he told me the first night, the first words that’d come from him after we’d left, then tossed me a bag of beef jerky. I told him I wasn’t hungry. My stomach complained. ‘That why you’ve been skipping lunch and dinner the past couple of days?’ I didn’t expect that. My surprise must’ve been written all over my face ‘cause the next thing he told me was, “We keep tabs on inventory, plan meals according to how many servings need to be handed out. Your name hasn’t been crossed in a while.’

‘Why do you care?’ My tone was sharp.

‘I can’t have you fainting on me mid-run. I need you to have my back.’

‘Oh, like you had  _my_  back last time, huh?’ I bit back, tossing the plastic bag back at him. He caught it in the air and stared at me intensely, green eyes pinning me down. However, he didn’t reply. ‘Yeah, thought so.’

We didn’t talk after that.

This morning I was running on half an hour of sleep and three days’ worth of an empty stomach. I was lightheaded, almost dizzy, my grip on my knife was loose and I was a hair’s width away from fainting.

‘Alright, you’ve made your point,’ Dean huffed eventually. He stopped walking, sheathed his knife and jutted his chin towards a tree trunk. ‘Sit,’ he commanded impatiently. ‘You’re going to eat and sleep before you put our asses on the line.’ He started digging in his pack.

‘I’m  _fine_ ,’ I told him, feeling like I was stepping on a cloud. He froze for a moment, gave me a look that was so  _done_  with my crap, marched up to me and pushed me down with his palms on my shoulders. I had no strength to keep my balance. I fell on my ass.

‘The girl I met a month ago would’ve stood firm and kicked me in the balls. You’re not  _fine_. Eat this, sleep, and then we’ll go on with the mission.’ He shoved his hand in his bag again and thrust the same packet of jerky in my arms.

‘Dean, why don’t you get off my case, huh? You clearly dislike me, so stop pretending you care. I will  _not_ owe your camp more supplies, okay? I’m finding the supplies that were wasted on me, paying off my debt, and then I’m leaving.’ He stared at me blankly for a second, eyebrows pulling together.

‘Wasted on you? Debt? Do you seriously think that?’ I only stared back. ‘Kid, we take care of our people. You don’t owe us anything. If you wanna leave, you’re welcome to go, you’re not kept hostage, there’s no  _debt_  to be paid back.’

‘I’m not your own people, as you’ve made abundantly clear.’ I felt like a child holding a grudge. His pine green eyes rolled in tired irritation.

‘If you don’t eat this and sleep I’m tying you to that tree and going alone.’

‘You wouldn’t  _dare_.’

‘Try me.’

I did.

I’m tied to a tree.

He was wise enough to give me  _some_ leeway to move, hands tied together but with a good two feet of rope between them and the actual bark.

My ass is numb, my hands are roughed up by the rope and I ate the pack of beef jerky. I need sleep but.. .                .  …~

**Author's Note:**

> Part two coming soon :)


End file.
